


Hunger

by sirfoxheart



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 07:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19883743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirfoxheart/pseuds/sirfoxheart
Summary: A quiet noise accompanied the slight tightening on the fingers around his wrist, and he opened his eyes again to see Eliot’s dark as he stared down at him. His lips were parted, and Quentin’s breath caught when Eliot’s tongue slipped out to wet them.Oh. “Is it… is it good?” Eliot asked, his voice dropping low in a way that sent a shiver through him.Or, Quentin Coldwater deserves birthday orgasms.





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Quentin Coldwater!
> 
> Set in a post-4x13 universe where whatever fix its you enjoy have happened.
> 
> No cupcakes were injured in the writing of this fic.

Wandering into the kitchen with his empty coffee mug in hand, Quentin glanced over his shoulder. The loft was mostly empty, with most of their guests not due to arrive for another hour or so. Julia and Josh were out doing some last minute rushing around, Margo was in the bathroom. He’d spent the last hour reading in bed, sat up against the headboard with Eliot’s head on his lap, trying not to let himself get distracted by the little sleep noises he made while he dozed.

Who was he kidding. He’d managed half a chapter in that hour. Eliot’s face, unlined and relaxed in sleep, was far more captivating

He hadn’t even wanted to have a party. He still felt too stretched thin most of the time to be comfortable in big crowds, although he’d admitted that their small group of… friends? Family? Whatever you upgraded to when you saved the world for the something-eth time, that it wasn’t so bad with just them.

And he knew that they needed this. This togetherness. This calm.

So, he’d agreed to let them throw him a god damned birthday party.

With strict limitations to movie and pizza night, and no cake. He could sit through a low-key party, would hopefully even enjoy spending time with everyone as long as long as the evening stayed easy and casual, but the thought of anyone making a fuss over him had made him want to crawl back into bed and stay there for a week.

He’d felt embarrassed when Eliot had gently but very, very firmly shut down everyone else’s well-meaning cajoling, but he’d squeezed his hand in gratitude just the same. It was just a night in with friends. If he felt up to it, maybe he’d be able to convince them to play a board game or two. No big deal, no centre of attention, no candles, no cake.

So why had Margo barred him from the kitchen all morning?

There was nothing on the benchtop or in the sink to indicate anything in particular, but Josh had been in here doing _something_. And he… he didn’t want to snoop, he didn’t want to ruin everything, but he was only just starting to feel like he wasn’t fraying at both ends after… everything that had happened, and he just wanted to be prepared for whatever they were doing, that’s all.

Dropping his mug in the sink, Quentin put his hand on the refrigerator, hesitating for just a moment more before he pulled open the door.

Most of the shelves were about as crowded as usual — which was to say, practically empty. An assortment of condiments, cheese, some lunch meat that was probably due for the trash. The only shelf that had much of anything on it was the bottom shelf, which was stocked with a variety of fruits — apples and grapes and strawberries. Snorting, Quentin worked a quick counter-spell with one hand, dispelling the illusion easily.

With another glance over his shoulder, he pulled the Tupperware container from the bottom shelf with both hands, letting the fridge door close as he set it on the counter. He didn’t hold an ounce of guilt as he steadied the container with one hand and worked the corner open with the other. They could hardly complain about him ruining the surprise if he’d told them he hadn’t wanted it in the first place.

Pulling the lid free, he set it on the bench beside the container and looked inside at the neat rows of cupcakes, piled high with chocolate frosting. Quentin stared at them in confusion — not for what they were, but for the little flip-flop his heart was doing in his chest. This wasn’t… cupcakes weren’t a big deal. They were just cupcakes. It wasn’t _birthday cake_ , where he would have to live through everyone singing him happy birthday, staring at him while he sat there awkwardly and didn’t know where to look or how hard to smile or what to do with his hands.

(It wasn’t Julia getting teary over the fact that they had a chance to celebrate his next birthday at all. It wasn’t Margo’s inability to hide the reluctant vulnerability in her eyes despite the firm, determined set of her jaw. It wasn’t Eliot barely letting him out of his sight because they’d both been afraid that they’d never get to just be _them_ together again.)

This was… just something nice for him. Something easy. Something good.

Quentin looked down at the cupcakes, and smiled.

“ _Busted_.”

Spinning around at the sound of Eliot’s sing-song voice, Quentin tried to stand so that he was hiding the container, but the smirk that pulled at Eliot’s lips told him that it was pointless. His eyes were still half-lidded with sleep but brightening every second, his hair a soft mess of curls. It was clear he must have woken up just minutes ago.

Before he’d snooped, he’d been sure of his righteousness, but now that he’d seen what they’d done for him, he felt the guilt start to seep in. They’d obviously wanted it to be a surprise, and he’d gone and ruined it with his inability to just… to just leave things alone, to let things happen, to let people be good to him.

Knowing that Eliot would jump straight into protection mode the moment he gave any indication that he might be spiralling — because of cupcakes, _come the fuck on, Quentin_ — he forced a smile. “You never saw me?” he said hopefully.

Eliot didn’t reply straight away, just continued to watch him, and Quentin tried to quash the nervousness building in his gut as it became obvious that yep, he saw right through him. Just like he could see in Eliot’s eyes that he didn’t want to push him, didn’t want to make a big deal if Quentin didn’t want to make a big deal, was hesitating on the right approach. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, but he couldn’t find any fire to put behind his words when he spoke. “I don’t want to ruin it if they did something nice for me.”

Eliot's eyes softened immediately. His hand settled on Quentin's shoulder, a warm, welcome weight, the brush off his thumb on the bare skin at the edge of his t-shirt a familiar comfort. "You haven't ruined anything. But honey, if you think you're going to fool anyone if you pretend to be surprised, you're kidding yourself."

His immediate surge of regret was tempered slightly by the lift of Eliot's lips. _It doesn't matter_ , that smile told him. _No one's going to hate you for peeking at the stupid cupcakes._

Taking a deep breath, he let himself believe it. A little. "Okay," he said, forcing his shoulders to relax. When had he stiffened up so much? "Okay." It would be fine. He would put them away, completely fail at acting surprised when they brought them out later in the night, and they'd all have a laugh about it. Reaching out to squeeze Eliot's free hand, he held it for a moment when Eliot's fingers tightened on it harder than he was expecting, then turned to grab the container.

It wasn't until his thumb sank into something gooey that he realised he hadn't put the lid back on.

Lowering his eyes, Quentin stared at his hand, his fingers wrapped around the edge of the container and his thumb buried past the knuckle into a cupcake. He felt Eliot tense behind him, heard his quick in-drawn breath. "Quentin. Don't worry about it, Josh isn't even going to notice. It's not a big deal —"

He clapped his free hand over his mouth just a moment too late to muffle the laughter that burst out of him. It looked ridiculous, all of those pristine cakes with their perfect swirls of frosting all lined up, and then… he pulled his thumb free, choking on laughter at the mess in front of him. “Oh my god,” he gasped.

“Quentin?” Eliot said hesitantly, and that only added to the absurdity of the moment. He was worried about upsetting him over _cupcakes_ … which was only more ridiculous because of the mood that he’d just been sinking into over the same damn thing.

“I just… Guess there’s no hiding it now,” Quentin said, dropping his hand from his face and letting himself laugh, and… and it felt good to laugh about stupid things. The cupcake was a mess, _he_ was a mess, and it _felt good_.

Eliot’s hand tightened on his shoulder, pulling at him until he turned back around. His other hand grabbed quickly at Quentin’s wrist, and he realised that he’d been just about to let his hand fall on his chest. He glanced down at his hand, his thumb covered in chocolate frosting and crumbs, Eliot’s fingers curled around his wrist. Raising his eyes to Eliot’s face, he found him watching him with a hesitant smile. “Not really, no,” he said.

The smell of chocolate finally registered in his brain, and Quentin looked back down to the frosting covering his thumb. “Well, since we’re here already,” he said, pulling against Eliot’s grip and licking some of the frosting from his thumb. The frosting practically melted on his tongue, and he let his eyes slip closed, letting the rich flavour spread through him like comfort, and some of the tension in his joy softened.

A quiet noise accompanied the slight tightening on the fingers around his wrist, and he opened his eyes again to see Eliot’s dark as he stared down at him. His lips were parted, and Quentin’s breath caught when Eliot’s tongue slipped out to wet them. _Oh_. “Is it… is it good?” Eliot asked, his voice dropping low in a way that sent a shiver through him.

Quentin blinked up at him, his heart in his throat. “Uh huh,” he said, sucking in his breath when Eliot pulled his hand toward him and closed his lips around his thumb.

He felt the vibrations of Eliot’s soft groan as much as he heard it. Eliot’s eyelids fluttered but he didn’t look away as he slid his tongue over Quentin’s skin. Quentin’s fingers rested along his cheek and he moved to cup it properly, his fingers stretching along his jaw and feeling the way his throat moved when he swallowed. His other hand clung painfully to the edge of the countertop behind him. “Do you like it?” he asked, barely able to think past the wet heat of Eliot’s mouth wrapped around him.

Eliot’s tongue rolled against his thumb, and Quentin moaned.

His free hand left the bench to grasp Eliot’s shirt, pulling him in toward him, and he came willingly, crowding him up against the counter. Dropping his head so that his forehead pressed against Quentin’s, Eliot hollowed his cheeks around his thumb, sucking lightly, and Quentin arched into him. Eliot pressed into him, his other arm slipping around his waist and holding him firm, and Quentin clutched at his side before moving his grip to his shoulder, wanting… _wanting._ “El,” he breathed, and barely managed to pull his thumb from his mouth before he claimed it with his.

The kiss was hot and messy and oh _god_ , he tasted incredible, he always tasted incredible but now he tasted like incredible _plus_ _chocolate,_ and all Quentin wanted to do was crawl inside this moment forever, crawl inside him forever. Burying his hand in Eliot’s hair, he pulled him down into him as he rolled his body up, so completely overwhelmed by the hunger that Eliot kissed him with. It was like he wanted to eat him up, to swallow him whole, and everything outside of Eliot’s mouth-tongue-hands on his faded into nothing.

He whined when Eliot pulled away, clung to him to keep him from moving far, sighed in relief when he trailed his lips along Quentin’s jaw. “I think I missed some,” he murmured, threading his fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp before he angled Quentin’s head and pressed his mouth against his throat. The combination of the scratch of his stubble and the softness of his lips sent a thrill through him, and when he sucked lightly at his skin, Quentin felt like his knees were about to give out.

“Oh god.” He threw his head back as Eliot worked his way down to his shoulder. “I… Eliot…” he gasped, squirming against him, desperate for friction on his stiffening cock. Eliot’s hands dropped to his waist to hold him still, but only held there for a few seconds before he was pushing up his shirt, his big hands splaying over his skin as he licked his stomach. “Fuck,” he moaned, each wet press of his lips as he kissed his way up this chest sending a shiver through him. Pulling Quentin’s hand from his shoulder, Eliot guided it until he was holding up his shirt, giving him free range with his hands to smooth over his side, to slide around to the small of his back.

Eliot caught his nipple between his teeth, then moaned as he laved his tongue over it. “Maybe it’s just you that tastes so good.”

It wasn’t fair that something so ridiculous could also be so hot, and Quentin’s broken laugh cut off with a strangled sound when Eliot’s hand cupped him through his jeans. He pressed forward into his hand, whimpering at the gentle massage of Eliot’s fingers through the denim. He needed… right now, he needed to be in their bedroom right now, with considerably less clothes on. The hand holding up his shirt pressed hard against his chest, feeling the fast beat of his own heart. “Bedroom,” he forced out, pulling at Eliot’s shoulder with his other hand.

Humming, Eliot moved from his nipple, and Quentin breathed a sigh of relief before he realised that he was kissing his way back _down_. “Or,” Eliot said, without lifting his lips from his skin, both of his hands moving to his belt buckle, and — wait —

“Fuck, El,” he said, casting desperate eyes around the living room because — well, almost everyone was out, sure, but — “Margo —”

“Has seen it all before,” he said dismissively, unbuttoning his jeans, unzipping his fly like it was nothing, and —

“Oh my god,” Quentin whispered, wanting to hide his burning face behind his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that wasn’t any good either because he couldn’t _not watch_ , holding his breath as Eliot looked up at him, his eyes wide as he slipped his hand into his open jeans. He sunk his teeth into his lower lip, fighting to keep quiet at the gentle grip of Eliot’s fingers around him now that he remembered that they weren’t entirely alone, that Margo could walk in at any second.

Eliot tore his eyes away as he pulled him out, and Quentin sucked in a breath at his hungry look. He licked his lips again, just inches from his hard cock. He was really going to… _here_ … “Eliot…”

“Mmm,” Eliot said, leaning forward to lick lightly over the head of his cock, and Quentin couldn’t stop the shuddering moan that fell from his lips as he felt the sensation run all through him. Leaning forward, Eliot wrapped his lips around just the tip of him, teasing his tongue lightly over him again and again.

Quentin’s hand dropped from where he still held his shirt, then scrambled to pull it over his head when it threatened to block his view. He barely managed to get his head and his arms free when Eliot pressed forward, taking him in deeper, and Quentin’s hands twisted in the thin material.

One of Eliot’s hands held him steady at the base, while the other was firm on his hip, holding him back against the counter, and Quentin fought against the urge to thrust forward into his mouth. His instinctual need for _more_ was hard to control, but Eliot seemed determined to give this his best effort. And Eliot’s best efforts were… _a lot_. He moved back and forth over him slowly, letting his tongue do most of the work as it rolled against him, swirling around the head, licking and pressing and flicking against his frenelum. Gasping with every breath, Quentin couldn’t tear his eyes off of him, couldn’t do anything except dig his fingers into his shoulders and fight against the urge to cry out with every stroke of his tongue.

Eliot tugged his jeans down a little more, nudged his legs a little further apart so that he could massage his balls, slipping his hand further back to press against his perineum, and Quentin almost choked on his moan in an effort to hold it in. Closing his lips tighter around him, Eliot pulled back slowly, increasing his suction as he did so until Quentin was chasing after him when he leaned back. “What —”

His cheeks flushed and his pupils blown, Eliot was breathing heavily. “Remember to be quiet,” he said, stroking over him slowly and grinning when Quentin’s hips stuttered forward into his fist. “Or don’t,” he added with a wink, before taking him between his lips and sinking right down on him, not stopping until he felt the back of his throat, pausing for a moment before taking him in deeper and, _oh god,_ moaning as he swallowed around him.

Quentin didn’t even realise the sound that filled the room was his cry until Eliot pulled back and he could breathe again. Eliot sucked in a breath of his own before he took him right back in deep, swallowing him down to the hilt, and Quentin shook as his tongue worked at the underside of him. It felt… fuck, it felt _incredible,_ not in the least because Eliot’s own enjoyment of it was obvious in the hungry, desperate sounds he made with Quentin’s cock in his throat.

He lasted a few seconds longer before he pulled away again, gasping for breath. He looked up at him, chest heaving, mouth wet and shining, and Quentin’s hips jerked forward instinctively just from the sight. “Here,” Eliot said, his voice thick, and took his hands in both of his, lifting them to his head, humming in pleasure when Quentin automatically threaded his fingers through his hair.

When he took him in his mouth once more, he didn’t take him as deeply, but picked up his pace instead, tightening his lips firmly around him while he moved back and forth over him, and — okay, yeah, Quentin could — he could move, maybe, a little, that’s what Eliot had been hinting at, wasn’t it, and… oh _god_ , the way that Eliot moaned around him when he thrust forward into his mouth sent a shock through him. “Shit. Oh my… fuck,” he mumbled, twisting his fingers in Eliot’s hair, thrusting forward harder and shuddering at the wanting sound Eliot made in response. “Fuck, El. I —”

Eliot’s hands moved to grip at his hips, letting him use him completely, and… and it was too much, he wasn’t going to be able too… to hold back any longer, to last, to… to fucking _think_ , he just — “Eliot,” he moaned, fucking into his mouth, trying not to move too roughly or press to deep but Eliot took everything he gave him. “Eliot, I — I’m gonna —”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Eliot groaned, pulling back to wrap his mouth around the head, his tongue dancing over him as he jerked him with his hand. Quentin’s hands tightened in Eliot’s hair, his muscles going taut before he started to shudder as pleasure rocked hard through him. Eliot eased the pressure around him but continued to stroke him through it, his mouth warm but still.

He pulled back just in time for Quentin to fall to his knees, all ability to keep himself upright temporarily vanished, but Eliot’s hands were firm on him, wrapping around him and keeping him on his knees. “Q,” he started, laughing quietly when Quentin grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him in to kiss him, moaning when Quentin slipped his tongue past his lips and kissed him deeply. He felt light and happy and amazing and so fucking in love with Eliot, and the way he caught his wrist when he reached for his belt. “You don’t have to,” he murmured, breaking the kiss to nose against his cheek. “You get all the birthday blowjobs you want, no quid pro quo required.”

“Yeah, because getting you off is such a chore,” Quentin said, and smiled languidly against Eliot’s mouth when he gasped as he reached into his pants and wrapped his hand around him.

“Oh… okay,” Eliot said lightly, his obvious attempt at casual only slightly ruined by the broken sound he made when Quentin started to stroke him. Eliot sank back to sit on his legs, before Quentin pushed him back until he was leaning against the cupboard, straddling his thighs and somehow managing to not lose his rhythm in the process.

Eliot’s cockhead was already slick with precum, and Quentin felt a rush at the thought that he was so worked up from sucking him off. Hands grabbed his arms, tugging him closer, and Quentin slipped forward. Wrapping his arm around Eliot’s shoulders, he pulled him down to kiss him again, nipping at Eliot’s lower lip in the way he knew would drive him crazy. Eliot’s hands curled around his neck, his thumbs pressing in behind his ears and his fingers to the base of his skull, tense and trembling as his mouth moved messily over his, breathing him in as much as kissing him and it felt good, so good.

The little sounds falling from Eliot’s lips changed pitch, his breath hitching, his hands tightening, and Quentin sped up his hand, high on the knowledge that he was about to make him come. “Yes — El, yes,” he said, pulling back enough to hear him, pressing his forehead against his.

“Q,” Eliot moaned, his whole body shaking as he cried out. Wet heat spilled onto Quentin’s fist, hitting against his bare stomach, and he tightened his arm around Eliot’s shoulders, holding him close as he trembled and gasped under his touch.

Whatever he had done to get to see him like this, any time Eliot wanted him, he wasn’t going to question it.

Quentin stroked him gently through his last final shudders, smiling when he slumped hard against him, his hands dropping to wrap around his waist. He leaned into him, full of warmth and wanting him closer. Eliot let out his breath slowly, turning his head to press his lips lazily against Quentin’s cheek. “Happy birthday, Q.”

Huffing a laugh, Quentin turned his head to kiss him again. “You couldn’t even let me get to the bedroom.”

Sighing, Eliot pulled him back closer, burying his face against his neck and breathing in deeply. “Don’t pretend that wasn’t half the appeal.”

“Do you think Margo…”

Laughing softly, Eliot smoothed his hand up and down his back. “Sweetheart, if you think Margo didn’t hear that — and enjoy every second of it — you’re going to be very disappointed. Or, maybe not.”

He wasn’t going to put voice to the fact that the idea of Margo hearing them, or walking in on them, had heightened his excitement at least a little. He was fairly sure Eliot knew that, anyway. He was still sitting astride Eliot’s lap, his pants around his thighs, his hand sticky between them. He didn’t want to move. “We should get cleaned up,” he said reluctantly. Knowing his luck, Margo would walk in on them now, or… “Oh shit. Everyone’s going to be here soon.”

Scrambling to his feet with Eliot’s help, he pulled his pants up one handed, and then paused when he caught sight of the container on the bench. “Go shower,” Eliot said, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder and passing him his shirt. “I’ve got this.”

Looking down at the cupcakes in the container — eleven perfect, one crushed — he struggled to reconcile his earlier stress and anxiety with the steady, warm feeling flowing through him now. He leaned up, supporting himself with one hand on Eliot’s shoulder, and kissed him, long and lingering and full of the bottomless well of his affection, before he tore himself away to get cleaned up.

* * *

_“Have fun storming the castle!”_

Tucked into Eliot’s side, with Margo leaning on his back and Julia throwing popcorn at him from the other couch, Quentin barely took any notice when Josh stood up and headed toward the kitchen. He dimly heard the sound of the fridge opening and wished that he’d asked him to get him a drink while he was up, but didn’t care enough to call out to him, and definitely didn’t care enough to move from the cozy sandwich he’d somehow ended up in.

“What the hell… why would…” Josh’s voice carried across the room from the kitchen, and Quentin reluctantly lifted his head to see him standing at the kitchen island, an open container in his hands. The container with the cupcakes. He looked up at them, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would you smash one of the cupcakes, and then just leave it in the container?” He cast his eyes around the group, clearly perplexed. “I’m not even mad, I just… _why?”_

Quentin pressed his lips together to hold back his laughter, and a quick glance at Eliot showed he was doing the same. He jumped when he felt an elbow in his ribs, and found Margo pointedly tilting her head in Josh’s direction. His realisation that she knew _exactly_ what Josh was talking about hit at the same time as he remembered that the cupcakes were a surprise, and he felt himself flushing red as he turned to Josh. “There’s cupcakes?” he said innocently, fighting to keep the smile off his face when Eliot snorted beside him.


End file.
